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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29519208">The Memory Road</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkstained_Dreamer/pseuds/Inkstained_Dreamer'>Inkstained_Dreamer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A tad bit of non-graphic violence, Fall of Gondolin, Fear of fire, Flashbacks, Gen, Glorfindel has PTSD, Lords of Gondolin, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Survivor Guilt, Travel, dealing with grief, post-fall of gondolin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 16:40:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,703</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29519208</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkstained_Dreamer/pseuds/Inkstained_Dreamer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Newly returned from Mandos, Glorfindel  is traveling on foot through Middle Earth on his way to rejoin the war effort, but memories--both happy and painful--dog his footsteps.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Glorfindel &amp; Original Character, Glorfindel/Original Character, Past Glorfindel &amp; Duilin, Past Glorfindel &amp; Egalmoth, Past Glorfindel &amp; Rog, Past Glorfindel/Ecthelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Autumn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello! It's been a hot minute since I've posted anything, so I felt like it was time for a new work!! Enjoy!<br/>And, as always, I really treasure interacting with my readers, so feel free to leave a comment or respond to someone else's. All I ask is that you are respectful. :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was mid autumn, and Yavanna’s trees were changing their green raiment for vivid shades of vermillion, gold, saffron, and even maroon. As Glorfindel walked down the hilly road, leaves smelling of spices and wanderlust crunched and crackled beneath his feet like a carpet of parchment. He shifted his pack on his shoulder and wondered what Pengolodh would think of that, walking on precious scrolls. He’d heard that he’d made it out, had fled to the Havens and had found succor from distant kin. Glorfindel hoped he was happy. He hoped he finally had time to write those books he’d wanted to. Maybe that’s what he was doing now. Glorfindel smiled to himself, thinking of staid Pengolodh sitting on a harbor wall somewhere, his long hair unbound and blowing in the wind, and an overlarge leather-bound volume in his lap. He would be smiling and there would be ink smudged on his fingers. Maybe he’d even be barefoot. Glorfindel laughed, and kept walking. Maybe he’d go visit someday. When the war was over. </span>
  <em>
    <span>When the war was over. . .</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He stayed that night in a family’s farmhouse, curled up in a pile of hay. A cow nibbled interestedly at his hair. The farmer, an older man with graying hair and a tanned, leathery face came out, a wooden plate in his hand, with hard cheese and bread less-than-artfully arranged on it. He set it down by Glorfindel with a murmured word and would’ve walked back into the night if Glorfindel hadn’t put a hand on his elbow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for your kindness, sir,” he said, flashing a smile, careful not to show sharp teeth. “I truly appreciate it. I don’t wish to hold you from your own dinner, but may I ask one question?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man nodded his assent. “Of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glorfindel pointed his hand at the tiny, cloth-draped statue that stood on a windowsill, surrounded by flowers and ribbons. “What is that? An ancestral altar?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The farmer’s wrinkled face crinkled into a smile. “Oh, no  sir, that’s Egalmoth, the Lord of Prosperity. They say that he brings luck, makes the crops flourish and the winters easy. Everyone in these parts has a shrine to him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glorfindel smiled. “Ah. And does he bring you luck?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The farmer nodded vigorously, a hand over his heart. “Oh, yes, yes indeed, sir. My new heifer would’ve died from the colic last season. She was down in the straw, bellowing and choking and all, and I thought for sure she was done for, so I thought to just give the poor girl some comfort by putting that little statue--” he gestured to the shrine “--next to her. Thought’t would maybe calm her down. And the next morning, when I’d come back with the healer after walking through the night, she was just up and chewing her cud, healthy as you please. And the statue was standing straight up in the straw, right by her hooves. It was a miracle.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glorfindel nodded. “Thank you, sir. I won’t keep you any longer. Go and eat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The farmer smiled and touched his battered cap. “G’night, traveler.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good night.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he’d gone, Glorfindel walked over to the shrine and looked at the tiny, rough statue. It wore blue robes and held a crudely formed staff in its hand, bedecked with miniscule shards of quartz in place of jewels. Glorfindel smiled and shook his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They don’t do you justice, my friend. Your robes were </span>
  <em>
    <span>much</span>
  </em>
  <span> gaudier than that. But you bring them luck and prosperity anyways, eh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His smile turned sad as he reached into his pocket and took out a single jeweled hairpin. He turned it in the dim light. He’d been wearing it at the festival, when everything had fallen to pieces, and it had gone to Mandos with him, and somehow was still in his pocket when he’d returned. He closed his fingers around it for a moment, feeling the cool metal dig into his palm. Then he raised it to his lips, kissed it, and laid it down between a folded scrap of paper covered in childish writing--wishes no doubt--and a nosegay of drying chrysanthemums. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Valar know we could use a little luck, right about now,” he whispered to the statue, half-joking, half in earnest. “Put in a good word for us down here in the material world, won’t you?”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Winter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was a freezing winter evening when Glorfindel came to the top of a snowy rise and looked down on the burned wreck of what had once been a town. He could see the small, hunched shapes of people moving about below, carrying broken beams, tending to the wounded, burying the dead. He tightened the straps of his pack and began walking down into the village. Snow blew in eddies around his feet, making him grateful for his thick coat. He’d found it in his pack two weeks before, and had laughed to himself as he put it on. Mandos was nothing if not considerate, it seemed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stopped to talk to two small children sitting on a pile of splintered wood. They were huddled together under a blanket, frost crusted on their eyelashes. Glorfindel knelt down beside them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What happened here, little ones?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One of the children lifted his head slightly and shivered. “The big metal monster came,” he sniffled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel’s stomach lurched with a sickening memory of flames crawling up white walls and gleaming on polished iron and bronze. His hands tightened convulsively on the folds of his cloak.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The other child looked up at him with large, serious brown eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It breathed fire too, when it came. Our house is gone now,” she said sadly, patting the charred pile beneath her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel forcibly pulled himself back to the present. “I am. . .sorry. Truly sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The little girl curled into a tighter ball, clutching a worn teal-clad doll to her chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel paused, fingering the hilt of his sword. “One more thing: do you know where the metal monster went?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The boy bit his lip and furrowed his brow, evidently thinking hard. “It went that way,” he said finally, pointing north, out past the village boundaries. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel nodded. “Thank you. I’ll be going now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turned and began to walk in the direction indicated by the small boy, but he found that something was dragging on his coat. Looking down, he met the solemn gaze of the little girl, still clutching her doll. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you going to fight the monster?” she asked, wiping her nose on her tattered sleeve.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am going to try, little one. I am going to try.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a thoughtful expression, the girl withdrew her hand from her wraps and held out the floppy doll. Glorfindel could see that it had feathers tied in its yarn hair, and a tiny bow on its back. Someone had evidently made it with incredible care. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here,” said the girl. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel crouched down beside her. “You want me to take this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nodded, shoving it towards him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The little girl smiled. “It’ll </span>
  <em>
    <span>protect</span>
  </em>
  <span> you. My mama says that the Prince of Swallows watches over us. Because in spring, the birds roost here. Everybody calls this the village of Fluttering Wings. Didn’t you know?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel reached out and took the doll, then straightened and gave a formal bow. “I did not. Thank you, my friend--for telling me that and for giving me this token of your favor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The girl giggled and bowed back, nearly falling into the snow and mud before running back to her brother. Glorfindel watched her go, and then turned and left the village, heading north, with the doll clasped in one hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t expect to find you here, Duilin,” he said, his breath making frosty clouds in the frigid air. “I hope you’re living up to that little girl’s expectations.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a melancholy half-smile, Glorfindel moved the doll’s head so it nodded an emphatic ‘yes.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good, good. Well then. On to business.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tramped through the snow, following the trail of burnt and broken trees. Branches clattered like skeletal hands above him. The bitter wind made the pale moonlight look almost crystalized. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he walked through the deepening night, Glorfindel began to talk to Duilin. He told him about the shrine to Egalmoth, and about every farmer and carpenter and wheelwright who had sheltered him in the past months. He told Duilin about how he’d learned to know where he was by simply tasting the dust of the road on his lips. He told him about how he rarely slept anymore, to keep away the dreams. And the night wore on, and his voice grew hoarse, and the trail of the huffing, creaking beast of fire grew ever clearer, he began to cry. Tears froze on his cheeks and on his eyelashes, crusting them with diamonds of distilled sorrow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A few hours before dawn, he saw a great gout of fire bloom in front of him like a flower of death, and he heard the screeching, groaning, squeal of metal on metal, and he tasted ash on the air. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He clutched the Duilin doll in his right hand, as he drew his sword from its scabbard with his left and began to run through the snow, slipping and sliding towards the glowing-eyed monster.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before it registered his movement, Glorfindel had slammed his sword into its side, on one of the joints held by rivets larger than his palms. Sparks flew, catching at his coat, glowing and snapping. He danced away, and flew in again, stabbing at the plates of steel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The monster noticed him now, and it turned its red-orange eyes on him and opened its mouth to let loose a whistling scream of horror and steam. Fire gathered in its throat and for a moment, Glorfindel was back on a steep mountain pass, standing at the edge of a cliff as a whip of writhing white flame swept towards him and finally caught on flesh and hair and cloak.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt the pressure of the doll in his hand. He felt the hilt of his sword in the other. And as the fire curled its fingers around him and reached out to caress his face and to pull him down, down into the whirlpool of red and orange and then deep, deep black, he ran </span>
  <em>
    <span>forward, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he ran into the fire and he raised his sword and </span>
  <em>
    <span>threw</span>
  </em>
  <span> it, threw it into the incandescent eye of the creature that was not meant to be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sword exploded into splinters, sinking deep into the electric mind of the beast. There was a horrible shriek as wires were severed and gears ground to a stop. Sparks flew. The monster of iron and fire and steel reared up and then juddered and shuttered and fell into the melting, steaming snow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel found himself lying on his back, staring up at the cold, distant stars. He could smell ozone and burning hair. The wind touched his face, soothing his scorched cheeks. Slowly, slowly, he sat up and looked down at the slightly charred, soft thing in his hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You see why I had to come back?” he asked, desperately hoping that somewhere, somehow Duilin would hear him and understand and </span>
  <em>
    <span>forgive</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “I failed in Gondolin. I failed to protect my friends from Morgoth, I failed to protect Maeglin from his own mind, I even failed to protect myself. I won’t fail again. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> fail again. You see?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The only sound was the hissing of the wind. With a sigh, Glorfindel rose to his feet and began to gather the broken pieces of his sword, carefully stuffing them into his pack. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When all the shards were bundled together, tucked away between a rolled blanket and his waterskin, he began to trudge  back toward the village of Fluttering Wings. He would return the doll, and then keep going.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he walked through the sleeping town, he could hear the snores and whimpers of the people, asleep in their makeshift shelters of cloth and rubble. The sun was just beginning to rise. Soon the villagers would too. They would get up and they’d begin to rebuild.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Glorfindel set the doll down on the pile of charred wood where he’d met the children, a single swallow flew overhead, singing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Spring</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was spring, and the world was all in vibrant hues of green and white and purple. As Glorfindel walked down the busy, winding street of a town with a name he’d already forgotten, people jostled him, shunting him along, just one part of a wave of life. From the sheer amount of sheep, he’d ascertained that it was Market Day. Good. He would draw fewer odd looks in a crowd.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, it wasn’t as if he went unnoticed. Country folk rarely saw the Eldar, and even if they didn’t recognize it, the light of Aman that he knew shone from his eyes drew their attention, sometimes even their fear. He took to wearing a wide-brimmed hat that had the triple benefit of obscuring his pointed ears, dimming the light of his eyes, and shading his face from the sun. He’d found the hat on a rather dilapidated scarecrow, a few weeks before. It was halfway to oblivion, but he found that he was fond of it. Anyways, all his clothes were ragged now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sometimes, he tried to remember what it had felt like to wear silks and velvet, to feel the brush of embroidery against his skin. He wrapped twigs and wildflowers around his head, trying to recollect the weight and coolness of his circlets.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But then the wind would blow, and he would be surrounded by flower petals and shreds of leaves, drifting away like ashes on the breeze. And he’d shake his head and keep walking, and then that night he’d dream of fire and falling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t pretend after that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel shook himself and kept walking, scanning the street for what he was looking for. Not that sign, not that next one. . .there. With a few murmured “pardon me”--s, he strode through the crowd and towards the sign emblazoned with a hammer and anvil. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He slipped through the open door and found himself in a small forge. Completed or half-completed projects were arranged neatly on tables. An apprentice was pumping the bellows, as the blacksmith drew a glowing piece of iron from the fire. Glorfindel averted his eyes from the dancing flames and looked around the room, wondering if there was a line he’d somehow missed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I help you?” said a soft voice at his side, and Glorfindel turned, startled, to meet the clear grey-blue eyes of a young person in a smith’s apron and gloves who seemed to have materialized from nowhere.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel recovered from his momentary surprise and smiled. “Yes, as a matter of fact. Are you the blacksmith?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The youth shook their head, smiling shyly back.“No. Not yet, at any rate. I’m just her apprentice. My name is Taylan. But, if you’ll tell me what you need, I can try my best to help you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel unslung his pack from his shoulder and withdrew the bundle containing the broken pieces of his sword. He held it out to Taylan.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I met with an, er, accident a few months ago and my sword was shattered. I was wondering if it could be reforged.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taylan gravely took the cloth-wrapped package and carried it over to a clear worktable. They unrolled it, and the shining fragments of the sword tumbled onto the wood, clinking faintly against each other. Glorfindel withdrew the hilt from his bag and set it beside the broken blade, hope kindling in his eyes. He’d had this sword in Gondolin. He’d fought with it, beside Egalmoth and Duilin and Galdor and all the rest. He’d trained with it in the courtyards, with the sun shining hot on his hair and his heart pumping in his ears. It was just as much a part of him as his hand or his legs. As his heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But as soon as he looked at Taylan, he knew that it couldn’t be saved. They were shaking their head, fingering the pieces gently through the thick canvas of their gloves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I doubt that even the master smiths in the city could fix this. We can forge you a new sword, though. It’ll only take a few days. Can you wait that long?” Taylan asked, turning to Glorfindel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel opened his mouth intending to say something along the lines of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, of course I can, thank you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but what came out instead was a rather choked sob. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taylan’s face melted into gentle sympathy, and they stretched out a hand, patting his arm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You loved it, didn’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Glorfindel said, swiping at his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taylan nodded and stripped off their gloves. “Would it make you feel better to tell me about it? You can come and have tea with me, if you like. I live upstairs, you see. Here, come on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taylan rewrapped the shards, tucked the bundle under their arm, and looped their other one through Glorfindel’s. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before he knew it, he was seated at a small table in a neat, whitewashed attic room, and Taylan was setting out chipped cups and saucers. In another time, perhaps he would’ve been embarrassed to be taken care of like this, to cry in front of a stranger, but now, after everything that had happened to him and around him and within him, he found that it really didn’t matter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taylan hummed quietly while they prepared the tea and poured it, steaming, into the cups. But when they’d finally sat down across from Glorfindel, they began to talk. They told him about the latest scandals in the town, about the births and marriages and buying of horses, and who had said what thing at mistress so-and-so's party last week. All the beautiful little mundane details of living. Glorfindel listened, and drank his tea, and felt himself growing calmer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taylan must’ve seen this, because they steepled their thin fingers and grew serious. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you feeling better?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel managed a wan smile. “Yes, quite. Thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taylan tilted their head. “Would you like to tell me about your sword now? You don’t have to, of course, but I have to admit that I’m curious. The workmanship was very fine. Finer than any I’ve seen before, even the ones from the city. Where did you get it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel stared down at the dregs of tea left  in his cup, and sighed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A colleague of mine made it for me. His name is--was--Rog. He was a very great smith, and a very wonderful warrior. But most of all, he was a very good friend.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taylan made a surprised little sound in their throat. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Rog? </span>
  </em>
  <span>You mean he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>real?!</span>
  </em>
  <span> I thought that was just a legend.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel raised his eyebrows. “You’ve heard of him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taylan laughed. “What smith this side of the Great River hasn’t? People say he wielded a twenty-pound hammer in either hand when he went into battle and that his gaze alone sent orcs running back to Angband!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel shrugged. “It was only one hammer. And it definitely was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> twenty pounds. But he did have a rather terrifying glare. I’ll give that to him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taylan rested their chin on their hands. “We </span>
  <em>
    <span>venerate </span>
  </em>
  <span>him here. And you knew him? For real?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. I did know him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then that means. . .” Taylan trailed off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re an elf, aren’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel nodded tentatively. “Is that okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taylan laughed again. “Why wouldn’t it be?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel rolled his eyes. “Oh, gods, you’d be surprised. Some humans get very frightened extremely easily. The kind of frightened that translates into torch-bearing mobs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” Taylan replied, putting one hand over his for a moment, “I’m not one of those humans. You can rest assured that should a torch-bearing mob stop by, I shall firmly send them on their way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel chuckled. “I feel so protected with you here, Taylan.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They smiled. “What’s your name, by the way? I never caught it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Glorfindel. My name is Glorfindel. A long, long time ago, people called me ‘milord.’ But please don’t do that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, Glorfindel-without-any-add-ons,” Taylan said, plopping onto their bed and pulling their knees up to their chest. “Since my superiors downstairs are all too busy to miss me, and we happen to have more tea in the pot as well as a whole afternoon ahead of us, why don’t you tell me your story?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You scream in your sleep,” Taylan remarked one morning, a week after Glorfindel had arrived.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighed. He hadn’t been able to resist the urge to close his eyes last night, and before he could stop himself, he’d slipped into the well-worn dreams of blood on white stone and fire and the oily, sick smell of burning flesh. He pulled his shirt over his head and tried to shake the images away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do I?” he said, affecting carelessness. “I can sleep somewhere else if you want. You’ve been kind enough to me already, designing my sword, and feeding me, and letting me bed down on your floor. It’s okay if you want me to leave.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taylan frowned. “Of course not. Unless you want to. I just wondered if there was anything I could do to help you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel shrugged. “I don’t think so. But thank you. You’re very generous, Taylan.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They smiled, though their eyes still held concern. “Well. Let’s go downstairs, shall we? We can finalize the designs and I can start forging. You know, I think we might be able to melt some pieces of your old sword in with the new one, and. . .”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel allowed them to take his arm and lead him down the rickety wooden stairs, their gentle chatter wrapping around him like his old, silken robes, and pushing last night’s dreams to the back of his mind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But when the sun had set again, and the only sound was Taylan’s soft breathing from their bed, Glorfindel slipped back into the mire, almost letting it draw him down this time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bright fire blooming across the square, withering the trees. The water in the fountain turning to steam. His arm. Broken. A heavy weight on his shoulder. Air full of smoke and clashing metal and screaming. Blood trickling in the cracks between paving stones. And then the Balrog, huge, bigger than all the rest, wreathed in flames of all colors. Whip cracking. Singeing his hair. Stumbling. And then, one flash of blue and silver later, there was Ecthelion, dodging and dancing, graceful. On the edge of the fountain. He’s screaming now, screaming at Ecthelion to stop, to wait, knowing what will happen, the path history has already set out for his love, and then in a tangle of flame and hair and melting armor they’re falling, falling into the fountain, and he’s screaming, and his tears are burning his cheeks, and---</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Glorfindel!” Someone is shaking him. Their voice breaks. Who is it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel opened his eyes and found Taylan bending over him, a lamp in one hand. They stared at each other for a moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Was I. . .?” Glorfindel asked, knowing the answer before Taylan spoke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. You were.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They knelt down on the floor beside Glorfindel and reached out to take his hand, stroking the fingers.  “It’s all right,” Taylan  murmured soothingly. “It’s all right now. You’re safe. You’re okay. Everything’s going to be all right.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel turned his face away to hide the tears streaming down his cheeks, but all Taylan did was move around to his other side and lie down beside him, keeping up their soft chanting until his shuddering breaths grew less and less choked. Finally, when the lamp had almost burned out, they reached out and lightly touched his cheek.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I ask you something?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Glorfindel hiccuped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They paused and looked away, suddenly shy. “I. . .when you were dreaming, I couldn’t help but hear. . .and I was wondering. . .who was Ecthelion?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel bit his lip. “Someone I knew in Gondolin.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your friend?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not exactly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your lover, then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.” Glorfindel closed his eyes. A rebellious tear still managed to slide down his cheek. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Very, very gently, as if afraid that he would break or shy away, Taylan traced their thumb over the wet track it left his cheek. Their hand was very warm. Glorfindel could feel the calluses from the forge. He opened his eyes and found himself staring into Taylan’s. He could feel their breath tickling his face. They smelled like sleep and lavender. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their fingers traveled downwards, resting on the buttons of his shirt. They looked at him, questioning. The lamplight played over their delicate features, made their rumpled hair shine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t want to. . .be forward,” they whispered. “And I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to. But. . .if you’re okay with it. . .we could just. . .couldn’t we?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We could,” Glorfindel echoed hoarsely. Taylan’s fingers played with the topmost button of his shirt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you want,” Taylan said tentatively, “You could pretend that I’m. . .you know. . .him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel looked at Taylan. At their flushed, anxious face, lips parted, eyes wide and dark in the flickering light. The way their hair fell down over their forehead. The freckles scattered across their cheeks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he thought of Ecthelion. Dark-haired and graceful and lithe, cold as steel and gentle as spring; bright as sunlight on water and terrible as an army with banners. He tried to reach out, to feel for the familiar shape of him in his mind, but all that was left were the tattered shreds of a memory. What’s left behind when a heart breaks? Is it a betrayal of whatever’s left to try and. . .forget? Was it even right to call it forgetting? He still loved Ecthelion. He always would. He wasn’t trying to fill the space he’d left behind. Only weave a new pattern into the tapestry around it. Write another name in the book of his memories, not scratch out Ecthelion’s. Something melted deep inside Glorfindel’s chest. He looked at the person who lay beside him, a bright, sparkling patch against the darkness. Nothing like Ecthelion. But maybe that was all right. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Softly, Glorfindel took Taylan’s hand between his own and kissed it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Taylan, I would never ask you to be anyone but yourself,” he murmured, and closed the gap between them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taylan was finished with the sword two weeks later. It gleamed in the sun, patches of half-gold against the silver steel of the typical blade. Glorfindel hefted it in the courtyard, swinging it through the air, as he told Taylan yet another story from Gondolin. They seemed to never tire of them. All through the forging process, as Glorfindel sat, turned away from the  fire and Taylan worked their own unique brand of magic on the metal they loved. He told Taylan about how Galdor was afraid of Ecthelion’s swans, about the time Salgant came to a meeting drunk, even about bright, ill-fated Aredhel and her shy son who was a smith too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You'd've liked him, I think,” Glorfindel said one day, with Taylan sitting beside him on a sun-warmed stone wall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taylan smiled up at him and leaned their head on his shoulder. “If you did, I’m sure I would’ve. You have good taste, ‘Del.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taylan was sitting in the same spot now, as Glorfindel danced from sun to shade and back again. Their eyes followed him, though their hands were busy polishing a twisted metal bird.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the sun began to sink in the western sky, Glorfindel flopped down beside them and wiped his forehead with his shirt. When that only made it damper, he pulled the offending garment off altogether and let the grass prickle his bare skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is the balance right?” Taylan asked. “Everything feel okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel grinned. “It’s wonderful. I love it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taylan giggled and curled up beside him, but their laughter soon faded. A few cherry blossoms blew through the air, carried on the first cool wind of  evening. Taylan sighed and reached for Glorfindel’s hand. The bird pressed into his palm, warm from Taylan’s skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could feel what was coming, like a cold shadow over the warmth of the evening. It sat between them, a palpable presence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taylan finally broke the silence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Does this mean you’re going to leave?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel exhaled slowly. “ I have so many things left to do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt Taylan nod. “I know,” they said quietly. “I know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They laughed, a breathy, sad sound, and rolled over, leaning their elbows on Glorfindel’s chest. “Don’t be. It’s something I like about you, that you care. You care so much. It’s good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel reached up to brush a strand of hair from their forehead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe we’ll see each other again someday.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taylan smiled in their quiet way and shook their head. “I don’t think so. At least, not in this world. We’re on different paths, you and I. I’m lucky that yours happened to cross mine. But now it’s time for us to keep walking.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I get tired of walking away, sometimes,” Glorfindel said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taylan leaned their head down until their forehead rested on Glorfindel’s damp one. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, Glorfindel.” Their breath ghosted over his lips. “But you aren’t just walking away. You’re walking towards, too. See?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They pulled back and unfolded their hand, holding the tiny bird in front of his face. He looked at it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taylan sighed the sigh of an artist whose work just isn’t appreciated enough. “It’s a phoenix. A symbol of beginnings and endings.” Their voice quivered. “You can take it with you, when you go. To remember me. I made it from one of the pieces of your sword.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel wrapped his arms around Taylan and pulled them close, the bird digging into his chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll remember you,” he whispered into their hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taylan raised their head and pressed their lips to the corner of his mouth. “And I you. Maybe we’ll meet again in a different world. But if we don’t, it was enough, I think, to have encountered you in this one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He left at first light, the phoenix in his breast pocket and the smell of iron and lavender in his hair. By the time he looked back, the town, and Taylan, were only a smudge on the horizon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He blew the smudge a kiss and began to walk again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For those of you who, like me, are super into name meanings and etymology, here are a few tidbits on Taylan's name (I didn't make it up; it's very real).<br/>-It's a traditional gender-neutral Turkish name.<br/>-In Turkish, it can mean "elegant," "kind," "gracious," or "long and thin person."<br/>-In English, it can mean "tailor."<br/>Anyways, Taylan is my baby and I love them. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Summer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning: one tiny mention of suicide in here as well as a panic attack. Stay safe, lovelies. &lt;#</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was summer, and the road was dusty and cracking beneath the bright blue vault of the sky. Glorfindel tied his ragged shirt around his shoulders to keep the sun off, but he burned anyways, his skin going from the pale golden-brown of a fresh tree stump to peeling red, to dark umber. More freckles popped out on his nose and shoulders. His hair hung in damp, tangled strands around his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It hadn’t rained for weeks. The plants were withering, and Glorfindel felt a bit like he was wilting too. The sun pressed down on his back like a merciless, burning hand. The taste of dust lingered on his tongue. He held Taylan’s phoenix in his hand and felt it grow slick with sweat. The soles of his shoes wore out. He tore his shirt and wrapped the rags around his feet instead. Blisters formed and burst and callused over and formed again. He couldn’t imagine  how he used to dance all night at soirees and balls without tiring. He tried not to think of that. The old times. The gone times. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was late afternoon, and the heat was at its peak, when he heard the delicious gurgling of water, loud and laughing among the whirring of crickets and the singsong chants of the farmers working in their fields. Glorfindel turned off the road, his empty waterskin bumping at his side, and headed in the direction of the sound.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It led him into a grove of trees, the cool green shadows soothing his aching body and weary mind. Dappled light patterned his arms with lace-like patterns. Leaves rustled above his head. He breathed in the smell of earth and wriggled his toes in the grass. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His feet touched smooth, mossy paving stones and he came out into a little, roughly circular clearing, ringed all around by birch trees. A fountain gurgled at the far end, water splashing merrily into a lichen-furred basin. Yellow flowers were strewn around its lip, like tiny pieces of sunshine. A carved statue stood above it, the water pouring from a bowl held in its hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel dropped his pack on the ground and slowly began to walk across the clearing, towards the fountain and its stone guardian. It felt as if his heart was flinging itself frantically against his ribs, again and again and again. Because he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> that figure. He knew those long, trailing robes, he knew those slender hands, he knew the ribbons in the hair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel came to the edge of the fountain and looked up into the still face of the statue. The eyes were shut, the delicate mouth curved in a gentle half-smile. Glorfindel’s breath caught in his throat. There could be no doubting now, despite the inaccuracies of the sculptor’s portrayal. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, hey, ‘scuse me??” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A voice jerked him out of his reverie, and he whirled to find himself confronted by a woman, a bucket in her hands. She had a kerchief tied about her head. Her broad, dusty feet were bare. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, er, can I, um, do anything for you?” Glorfindel stuttered, convulsively clutching his waterskin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The woman rolled her eyes. “You can </span>
  <em>
    <span>move</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I don’t have all day, you know. My babies need water.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel stepped out of her way, and she came forward, plunging her bucket into the water and raising it again. It sent sparkling drips down onto her skirt and the stones at her feet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She set it down and knelt beside it, cupping her hands under the stream of flowing water and raising them to her lips. She closed her eyes, evidently enjoying the cool draught. Glorfindel watched her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she’d finished drinking, she turned around and looked at him. Irritation flickered in her dark eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eh, why you staring? You got some kind of problem?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel sank down onto the cool stones and rested his damp forehead against his palms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The woman sighed and stood up, walking over to him and standing with her hands on her hips. He could feel the darkness of her shadow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What don’t you know, hey?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What to do. Where to go. I don’t know anything anymore.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His breath began to come in gasps. He could hear flames crackling. Screaming. He couldn’t do anything. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>useless</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The woman, her annoyance replaced by concern, squatted beside the hunched, shaking figure of Glorfindel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You okay? You good, eh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I. . .I. . .can’t. . .”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She put a callused hand on his back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, hey. Shh. You want some water? I’ll get you some water, okay? Here, you drink that, you’ll feel better.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cool water splattered down his front. He couldn’t swallow. He couldn’t breathe. He was dying, maybe that was best, maybe he should never have left Mandos, no, no, he should go back, go see Ecthelion, go say sorry, </span>
  <em>
    <span>useless</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he should’ve been dead a long time ago, should’ve undone the skin at his wrists and belly and let his blood and guts spill into the dust, </span>
  <em>
    <span>useless, useless Glorfindel</span>
  </em>
  <span>, have to get away, have to run, </span>
  <em>
    <span>broken</span>
  </em>
  <span>, </span>
  <em>
    <span>useless, ruined, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the fire is inside him now, eating at his heart, burning his throat into silence, and somebody’s screaming-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>who is screaming?--</span>
  </em>
  <span>and then there’s nothing at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s lying on something soft. Something thumps  in his ears, a constant drumbeat. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thump-THUMP, thump-THUMP, thump-THUMP</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He can smell dust and sweat and earth. There’s coarse fabric against his cheek. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lazily, Glorfindel lets his eyes flicker open. Trees wave above his head. The sky is tinged with pink. Twilight. He can hear water. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The trees are blocked out by a round, worried face. The forehead is wrinkled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, hey. You feel all right now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh. Yes. The woman from before. A memory trickled back into Glorfindel’s mind. He’d looked at the fountain, and it had upset him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The woman was still staring down at him--he must be half on her lap-so he decided to answer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A little odd,” he said hoarsely. Gods, his mouth tasted bad. “Did I fall asleep?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A hand descended, dripping with water, and wiped at his face. “No. You were sick. Then you fainted. I was going to get the healer, but I didn’t want to leave you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel sighed. That explained the sour taste, at least. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry to trouble you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have five young ones at home. It’s not like I’ve never handled this before,” she said gruffly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel laughed weakly and sat up, careful not to look at the fountain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well. I’m in your debt. Thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shrugged. “Eh, doesn’t matter.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She frowned at him. “You hear what I just said? It. Doesn’t. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Matter</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They sat in silence for a moment. Glorfindel listened to the water splashing in the fountain. Crickets sang in the undergrowth. A bird twittered, returning to its nest for the night.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The woman tapped his knee, and he looked back at her. She gave him a half-smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You from Aman, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel’s mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She laughed and tugged the kerchief off her head. Her ears were broad and pointed, adorned with tiny hoops. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Glorfindel managed. “Are you. . .Avari?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She frowned. “You’d call us that, yes. But don’t, hey? It’s not so nice. We don’t like it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel nodded his understanding. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The elleth rested her chin on her hands. “Okay. So what’s someone from Aman doing wandering around here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a pause. “I’m, er, from Gondolin. You know of it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Psh. We’re not stupid. Of course we’ve heard of Gondolin. I’d guessed that’s where you came from,” she added conversationally. “Given that you recognized our stony friend over there, it was pretty obvious.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did your people build that fountain?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We did.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel looked at it out of the corner of his eye. “If I may ask. . .why did you put him on there?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ecthelion, you mean? We picked it up from the mortal men. They call him the Lord of the Fountains, and say he keeps the waters clear and sweet. They leave the flowers too.” She looked at him sidelong. “People say he likes the golden ones best, you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel looked down at his hands. At the calluses, the chewed nails, the cracked skin of months of travel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are those flowers still blooming?” he asked quietly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eh. No. The heat’s shriveled them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glorfindel turned fully and looked at the statue again. Hair and robes caught in an invisible breeze. Bowl in one hand, flute in the other. Face serene and tinged pink by the sunset. The water shone like molten gold at his feet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve been so kind, and I hate to keep you from your family, but could I ask one more favor?” Glorfindel said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Name it, and we’ll see,” came the wry reply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you help me cut my hair?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~  ~  ~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was almost dawn. The sky was tinged pearly grey. The stars were beginning to fade. And Glorfindel could feel the cool night wind on his neck. It felt like a hand. It felt like sorrow, and love, and memory. It felt like freedom. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Miles behind the lone traveler, a small bird landed on the edge of a fountain. It picked up a shimmering strand of gold in its beak and flew back towards its nest, ready to weave in this new prize. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Far away in a town with no name, a smith’s apprentice turned over in their sleep, mumbling someone’s name.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even further than that, two children slept in their new house, a charred doll lying between them in the moonlight. Many leagues away from the town, an old farmer was milking his prize heifer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And even further than that, at the uttermost edge of the world, someone was playing the flute.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And on the road, Glorfindel was smiling though his eyes were full of tears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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